


First sentence ficlets

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: This is a series of unrelated ficlets based on first sentence asks.





	1. The realm of truth

“You’re sick and not going anywhere today, Mulder.”  
“Is that your medical opinion, Dr Scully?”  
She pressed her hand against his forehead. “You’re hot.”  
“Is that your medical opinion, too?”  
Tutting, she nuzzled the side of his neck. “You need to rest. It’s been a busy few days.”  
“I would if you left me alone.”  
Her fingers played with the hairs on his arm and he felt himself twitch again.  
“You’ve suffered a head injury whilst fulfilling your training duties and you’re going to stay in bed. I’m calling Skinner.”  
She went to grab her phone but he pulled her down and caught her mouth in a kiss. She settled over him, her nipples brushing against his chest.  
“Are you going to tell him how I got the head injury? Or are you going to lie?”  
“I’m going to tell him you might be concussed. That’s not totally outside the realm of the truth.” She brushed his fringe away and kissed his eyelids gently.  
“And are you going to explain that I might be concussed because of your rather enthusiastic after-teambuilding-conference teamwork exercise?”  
She lowered her hips so that she nudged him with her heat. He groaned into her hair.  
“I think the simplest version of events will suffice.”  
He put his finger and thumb to his ear and mimicked her voice, “AD Skinner, Agent Mulder is unable to come in today because he is possibly concussed, having sustained an injury after the teambuilding conference. Yes, sir, I said, after. Not during, no. Well, Agent Mulder and myself were attempting to capitalize on the learnings from the conference by building a tower of furniture. To demonstrate our teamwork, our communication skills and our resourcefulness. No, sir. Well, technically it fell down after we…er…tested out its design and functionality. With our own body weights. Together. Yes, sir. As we are a team, we wanted to prove how well we worked together. At the top. In a chair. Yes. It was well-balanced, weighted out correctly, scientifically scoped. It was an unfortunate oversight in the schematics that we failed to factor in the movement once we were, er…fitted in place at the top. No, sir. There was no alcohol involved. Well, there may have been some wine. But there was also cheese. And that’s what my report will reflect.”  
She kissed his grazed knuckles, his bruised shoulder, the purple lump under his fringe. “If you hadn’t have done that thing with your…I wouldn’t have moved quite so enthusiastically and…I’m going to call Skinner. Mulder, stop doing that thing with your…”


	2. This fits a profile

"Mulder why are you so wet? It’s not even raining outside."  
“I need you to come with me,” he says, pulling her wrist and leaving her skin cool from his touch.  
“Mulder, I’m writing a report. It’s due…”  
“This is more important,” he barks.   
She frowns as he tumbles them down the steps and round the side of the house to the yard he’s been turning into some kind of vegetable garden. He’s been so proud of his design, his herbs and seedlings, his knowledge of heirloom tomato varieties and the benefits of permaculture. He’s been talking about chickens and worm farms and organics. She knows he’s doing all the things she’s asked him to. He’s proving his worth to her. Just like he promised he would.  
“I put in fountain, Scully. It’s supposed to be calming, water. The sound of it, the shape it makes when it falls over the rocks at the bottom. I can put fish in the pond there.”  
He drops her hand and she folds her arms around her against the cool of the evening. She sometimes forgets how chilly it gets out here. He is still chattering about relaxation techniques and meditation and fancy goldfish when he switches the fountain on. It explodes in a silvery spray of freezing droplets that splash down on them.  
“I don’t think I’ve got the plumbing sorted,” he shouts, scrabbling around behind the back of the fountain.   
The water is freezing and she’s shivering and her thin blouse is stuck to her skin. He stands up and shrugs, his arms flying out from his sides. His hair is stuck to his face and drops of water run off his nose and chin. She is instantly taken back to 1992 and the Billy Miles case.  
“This fits a profile,” she says.  
“What?”  
“I said that to you, in Bellefleur, all those years ago.”  
He nods. “You thought I was crazy back then too.”  
She smiles. She giggles. He starts to laugh too. They let the water rain down on them as they dance and howl until their faces are frozen.


	3. This is not a date

Mulder chanced a glance down her neckline. “If this is what you wear to work, what do you wear on a date, I wonder.”  
He tucked away the mental image of the lacy outline of her bra under her blouse. It was unprofessional. They were partners. It didn’t matter that she’d bared herself to him on that first case in Bellefleur. That was a different Scully. A fresh, green version. Since then she’d toughened up, filed her skepticism with the sharpest rasp, whipped him often with her acerbic line of questioning, faced monsters and mutants and saved his ass on more than one occasion. He owed her more than a testosterone-fuelled wisecrack.  
“Come on, Scully, it’ll be a nice little trip to the forest.”  
His idea of a date was a little extraterrestrial, he knew that. But the thought of time away in rugged mountains, living clean in a cabin, surrounded by nature, was just the sort of date he reckoned she would dig. He threw his clothes in a backpack and thought about what she might be folding carefully into her luggage. This is not a date. He zipped up the pack. This is not a date.  
He repeated the mantra as he drove to her apartment to pick her up. This is an assignment. This is not a date. She put her bag in the trunk and they drove. She seemed pretty relaxed, chatting and humming to the radio. As they climbed higher towards the Olympic National Forest the sky darkened and the temperature plummeted. Scully called a rest stop and he waited by the car, sipping from his steaming cup of coffee as she paid a visit. He nearly spit out the foul liquid as Scully emerged, dwarfed in a blue outdoor jacket with a pink and green winged collar. It surely would have fitted him. Her tiny frame was swamped and she looked for all the world like a teenager heading off on a school camp. He tucked a smile into his coffee and handed her own cup to her. She had to pull her sleeve back to take it.  
“Looks like you’re all ready for this, Scully. No three inch heels or Donna Karan today.”  
“You need to dress for the occasion, Mulder. This is a case, not a date.”


End file.
